


Bound to Reality

by Hoodoo



Category: A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Institutions, straight-jacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From LJ prompt: "Murdock in a straight-jacket".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was literally: "Murdock in a straight-jacket. That is all." So that's where I put him, and this is what happened.

There was the sound of someone at the door, and Murdock sat up.

He struggled straight up, just a bend at the waist to his upper body being vertical. After a fall from a horse in his youth he’d been told by a physical therapist that was the worst way to sit up—it put too much strain on the lower back; a better, kinder way to go from prone to upright was to turn on your side and push off with your arm for extra support—but being confined in a fancy white coat with sleeves that tied in the back made it mighty difficult to get up from a laying position properly.

Murdock wondered what that physical therapist would think about his technique now. She’d probably tell him to get back on the horse, that horse was named Gambler, a big old stock grade beast that moseyed with his ears at half-mast until he noticed one of the cattle getting behind—or if he saw a coyote, man, that horse hated coyotes and turned into some sort of whirling dervish in an attempt to go after the predators, Uncle Paul shouldn’t have ever put him up on that horse, he didn’t have the strength to hold him in—but Uncle Paul was a jerk, grandpa would have known, grandpa would have had him ride something that would behave—but he’d show Uncle Paul, he’d make the most aerodynamic, slickest vehicles known to man obey his every whim, he’d show Uncle Paul who had strength, he’d do it all, and do it youngest ever—

He attempted to kick the blanket off his legs as a nurse—Nurse Cole, this morning—unlocked his room and opened the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Murdock!” she said in a cheery voice, and hurried over to help him free of the blanket. 

She was always cheery, unlike Big Carl the orderly who’d filed in behind her.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” Murdock replied with a grin. “Mornin’, Big Carl.”  
“Were you warm enough last night?”  
“Mm-hmm! Like I was givin’ myself a big ol’ hug. ‘Course, I’d rather have somethin’ else warmin’ me up at night—you think two people could be wrapped up tight in one of these? You an’ me, baby?” he flirted. His wink was exaggerated.

“Oh, Mr. Murdock—“ the nurse twittered.

“Hey.”

Big Carl interrupted. He always interrupted.

“None of that,” the orderly said. “You know we got rules here, Murdock. You don’t wanna be stamped a pervert on top of everything else, do ya?”

Murdock batted his eyes at the bigger man. “I didn’t ask you for a tumble in the hay, Big Carl. I bet heterosexual behavior is more approved than homosexual behavior. ‘O course, you’re so manly, I may be persuaded to swing both ways . . .”

Big Carl growled, and Nurse Cole shushed Murdock with a squeeze to his straight-jacketed shoulder. 

Murdock simply grinned. Big Carl was so much like B.A., he could help but tease.

“Carl is right, Mr. Murdock,” Nurse Cole agreed. She sounded disappointed. He hoped she sounded disappointed. “You know there’s to be no fraternizing of that nature between staff and patients. It would erode the trust we establish with them, and—”

She thought he was an idiot.

“But betwixt patients it’s okay?” Murdock interrupted. “Because there’s this sweet catatonic I was hopin’ to ask out, you think if I made some papier-mâché flowers in art therapy—“

Big Carl growled again and took a menacing step forward.

Murdock let it go. He’d never be as smooth as Face anyway; no matter how hard he tried he’d probably still get turned down.

“Are you feeling better this morning?” Nurse Cole asked, changing the subject with no finesse.

“Fine and dandy, like sour candy!”

She appraised him, and Murdock tried to look as sincere as he knew how. 

“All right, Mr. Murdock. I’ve been told it’s okay for you to be unrestrained—so long as you don’t become violent again.”

He nodded eagerly.

“You hear her?” Big Carl asked redundantly. “You ain’t gonna do anything violent, right? You trashed Dr. Carroll’s office up pretty bad last night, and you ain’t gonna do something like that again. Right?”

Murdock slumped a little bit, and mumbled, “Right.”

“I wanna hear you say it. Say: I’m not gonna be violent.”

“I’m not going to be violent,” Murdock repeated quietly.

Murdock kept his eyes down as he scooted forward to allow Nurse Cole to work the straps on the sleeves free. The doctors and nurses were in charge here, but orderlies had power and it was best to do as they said.

“Good,” Big Carl approved. “I’m assigned to you today. It’s gonna be a nice, friendly day.”

Finally permitted to uncross his arms, Murdock cracked his elbows and wrists. He didn’t do a thing with his hair, because even if he was grounded, it was allowed to defy gravity if it wanted.

“Let’s go get some breakfast, Mr. Murdock!” Big Carl said, then emphasized again, “A nice, friendly day.”

At least Big Carl didn’t call him fool. Murdock nodded, carefully tested his newly unbound arms to support his weight on the edge of the bed and got up. Nurse Cole helped steady him as he stepped out of the crotch strap. He made to say something, but interrupted himself with a huge grin as he caught sight of something passing in the hallway outside the open door.

“Billy!” he cried. 

His voice was more pleased and excited than the other two had heard yet this morning. Murdock darted out the door, and the orderly followed him. Nurse Cole took a second to fold the still-warm straightjacket before exiting and tossing it in the bin to be washed.


	2. 2

Breakfast. Most important meal of the day, so they said. Probably because it was the first time anyone was medicated since the night before. It was usually better than lunch, and definitely better than dinner, when they served meatloaf. Nobody made better meatloaf than grandma, with ground beef and pork all mixed together—Murdock always meant to have her write down her recipe but never got around to it, the young always think there’s enough time for everything, don’t they? And now no matter how hard he tried, he never made meatloaf as good as hers.

They never had supper, here in the ward. Always breakfast, lunch, dinner. Breakfast, dinner, supper on a Sunday--that was the proper order of things, but this wasn’t a proper place, this was an inside-looking-out kind of place, a check-in-never-check-out kind of place— 

Murdock giggled.

He checked out. He checked out whenever the team needed him, whenever Hannibal thought it was best and whenever Face scammed his way in and then re-scammed both of them out into the too bright sunlight, he always blinked and squinted going out the doors with Face man, like he was being born again, like being expelled from a dark womb into harsh—

Murdock giggled again, and Big Carl nudged his shoulder.

“What’s up, Murdock? Everything okay?”

Murdock looked up and smiled at the orderly. “I’m just so happy they let us have chocolate cereal! I’m cuckoo for Coco Puffs!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Hey, you think I’ll get some free time with Billy today? Darn dog trotted off before we got here to the cafeteria—I was gonna sneak him some bacon.”

Big Carl rolled his eyes. “You know dogs ain’t supposed to have bacon.”

“Just a teeny bit wouldn’t hurt! See, I saved a bite just for him—“

“Eat your bacon, Murdock.”

Grumbling, Murdock complied.

*

Once breakfast was done and washroom was done—Big Carl stood against the far wall of the three-sided shower, far enough away from the spray but close enough to intervene if something happened (nothing ever happened, having a shower stall with three sides was better than a shower stall with no sides, and Murdock wasn’t going to lose the privilege of it like some other people here in the ward he could name)—Murdock had the morning free.

“Freeee!” he laughed, drawing out the word to make it ironic.

There would be an afternoon group session but no individual session with Dr. Carroll today. It wasn’t scheduled, and Murdock wasn’t sure if the good doctor would have wanted to see him today after yesterday’s melee. He wondered why he wasn’t made to clean up the room, negative reinforcement by cleaning up a mess created by you wasn’t a bad choice, but maybe the good doctor didn’t want him back in the office at all—

“I’m gonna go back to my room,” Murdock told Big Carl. That was another privilege of his, since his room was so close to the community room. “Maybe Billy will come back in.”

Big Carl nodded, and although his presence was there, he stayed just out of the corner of Murdock’s eye.

Murdock fell backwards on his cot, reveling in the simple joy that he could move his arms anyway he wanted. The sheets were cold, and if he closed his eyes, he felt himself in the snow. He left his legs immobile, but with stiffened elbows he waved his arms like making a snow angel. Or like flying! Now cold, snowy wet ground dropped away and he was above the trees, soaring—

Billy hopped on the bed with him, which brought him back down, because dogs can’t fly!

“Hey Billy,” Murdock whispered, and turned on his side so the dog could settle in against his belly. He stroked the dog’s head. “Let me tell you about all the craziness that happened to me last night—“

*  
Billy eventually wandered off. He always did. Murdock thought Face could take a few pointers from the dog on coming and going as he pleased, then thought maybe he should take a few lessons too. It’d been too long since he’d been sprung—surely Hannibal lined up another client by now? Too many more days without escape and he was really going to go stir-crazy.

Afternoon group session. Usually okay, depending on who was responsive enough to attend. They’d been mucking around with Leo’s meds, so more times than not lately he spent most of his days drooling on himself instead of joining the group. But Elliot was getting better, even if he wanted to sit on the floor instead of a chair because of his crippling acrophobia. Murdock wondered if he could cure the man with a quick flight, but the nurses and doctors steadfastly refused to let him try.

Today was art therapy. Occasionally the paint colors were too bright and made too much noise for Murdock; he—very calmly, very rationally!—told the counselor this and was granted permission to just write. That was better.

Black and white didn’t jump up to lick your face like red did. He was never given a real pencil because they could be used as weapons, and the graphite sticks smudged his fingers, but that was okay. He’d learned to be very delicate with the sticks to write actual words—Murdock knew the doctors liked to see actual words, not just random wiggles on a page, no matter how much the random wiggles in his head tried to tell him otherwise—and then, when he was done, he could create thumb- and fingerprint creatures along the margins of the page.

See? It was art. Art for art therapy.

Once his hands were washed—he seriously thought about dragging his fingers below his eyes to emulate Captain Jack Sparrow (Captains had to stick together!) but then realized the marks would probably look like eye black that pro football players wore, or war paint that Native Americans wore, and H.M. Murdock was a lot of things but he was never politically incorrect to races or jocks or anyone.

So he didn’t.

Once his hands were washed, Big Carl escorted him outside for some “fresh air”. He always heard it in quotation marks. Murdock didn’t know why.

Murdock roamed around the designated area, and eventually ended up next to his favorite tree. He wasn’t allowed to climb it. He learned that the hard way. But it was a willow, and its sweeping branches made a little shelter for him. The ground was spongy here too, which was why, no matter how many times he told Jeff, those silk roses the other man stuck in the dirt weren’t going to grow.

Roses don’t like wet feet! he tried to explain, and still Jeff tried to plant the damn things in the eternally damp ground.

Whatever. 

No accounting for crazy.

Murdock sat near the base of the trunk, not caring that the same moisture that nourished the willow was going to soak through his pants. He leaned back against the tree and looked straight up into the branches. It was the reverse of flying, but it was good enough for now.  
Big Carl was still in the periphery. He took his assignments seriously, but was unobtrusive, which was why both the staff and the patients liked him. Once Murdock proved trustworthy again, he’d be assigned to someone else.

Murdock vowed to be good enough the rest of the day that Big Carl would give a good report, and then he wouldn’t have an orderly-shaped shadow tomorrow.

Eventually it was time to go in. Big Carl had let him have a few extra minutes by himself under the willow, and Murdock was confident his report would be positive.

The two of them walked in the dusk back to the hospital. 

Dinner was served, the evening’s meds were passed out in paper cups and everyone was made to demonstrate they swallowed, plus no one was allowed to use the toilet for at least thirty minutes after swallowing without an escort. The TV was turned on, and various board games were set out—games vegetized you. Playing games was taking a voluntary tranquilizer, Murdock’s grandma had chided, but maybe he heard that in a movie—and later, he was locked in his room.

No straightjacket tonight, so Murdock was free to stretch and move however he wanted on his cot. 

It was a good night.


	3. 3

Dawn dawned. Murdock’s room had a barred window, and if he wanted to get up and stand on tip-toe, he could see the sun cresting the horizon. It was an okay experience, but nothing like watching the sun rise while in the air.

Nurse Cole opened his room again. Big Carl was not with her. Murdock engaged in the light-hearted flirting the two shared every morning she was on duty—she was cute and not too skinny, like Hollywood and modeling companies seemed to think men wanted—then he was allowed to go by himself to breakfast. No shower today. Free time before lunch, then a session with the good Dr. Carroll in the afternoon.

Big Carl showed up to accompany Murdock to the doctor’s private office. 

Dr. Carroll called for him to come in. Murdock entered the room, cowed.

He glanced around the room. The books—the ones that hadn’t had their covers torn off—were back on the shelves. There was a plastic garbage bag over the shattered out window, held in place with silver duct tape, and the chair Murdock had thrown through the glass was back in place in front of Dr. Carroll’s desk.

The only thing missing was that potted plant that used to be on the doctor’s desk. Murdock had pitched it outside too, and no amount of duct tape was going to fix its pot. 

Maybe that little plant is happy outside now, Murdock thought, maybe it’s grateful to be in the wild! That would make me a plant liberator, a hero to those who have no voice, to those who grace us with life-giving oxygen . . . that meant he was a savior of mankind—

—oh. That’s edged close to a god-complex, and Murdock sure as hell didn’t have one of those.

“You okay here, Dr. Carroll?” Big Carl asked from the hallway.

Dr. Carroll scrutinized Murdock, who was still hunched. “Yes, Carl, thank you. I think we’ll be fine. Don’t you, Mr. Murdock?”

Murdock muttered, “Yes,” and after one last appraising glance, Big Carl nodded and shut the door, closing the two of them in together.

“Well!” Dr. Carroll began. He always started like that, like it was a tic. “Please, sit down, Mr. Murdock. Oh, I think the chair got a bit banged up from its free flight lesson the other day—its legs might not be even. Will that bother you, to be in a chair that rocks?”

Murdock shrugged; he honestly didn’t know. Rocking chairs were good, if you were a small boy and wanted comforting on your grandma’s lap. Rocking chairs were not good, if you were a long-tailed cat.

Murdock sat.

Dr. Carroll sat too, across his desk, a mile away.

“How are you today, Mr. Murdock?”

Murdock shrugged again. “Okay, I guess. Billy didn’t come in today.”

Dr. Carroll nodded distractedly. “Do you want to discuss what happened the other night?”

Murdock shook his head.

“All right.” Dr. Carroll fiddled with some papers he had in a manila folder on his desk. They were the written on sheets Murdock had done the day before. Murdock recognized the smudges around the edges of the papers, and was glad they stayed in the same place instead of moving on their own. “Would you prefer some word association?”

“No . . .”

“All right. Tell me, then, what song is in your head.”

Two strikes and you have to do what the doctor asks. That’s okay. Murdock likes “What Song Is In Your Head.” He was the one to first suggest playing it, after all. And Dr. Carroll is a good doctor, who listens.

With a very faint smile, Murdock replied, “Elton’s Song.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with that song.”

With a voice even fainter than his smile, Murdock sang, 

“Staring all alone at your grace and style, cut me to the bone with your razorblade smile, watch you playin’ pool, it’s all around the school that I love you.”

His voice shook a little and he caught his breath instead of continuing the song.

Dr. Carroll watched him a moment, then shifted the papers on the desk around before finding and tapping one in front of him. “That’s what you wrote yesterday, isn’t it?”

Murdock didn’t need to, but he glanced at it anyway. “Yeah.”

The doctor looked at it more thoroughly. “Did you write out all the lyrics?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s from an album Elton John put out in 1981. The Fox. Prob’ly one of the most underrated albums he ever released. It’s a good one, although I bet it sounds a little dated now. There was lots of synthesizer on it.”

Dr. Carroll nodded slowly. “I meant: tell me about this song. What does this mean, here?”

Murdock could read upside down, but the doctor turned the paper for him anyway. He heard the printed words in his head, sounding better in Sir Elton’s voice than his own: sitting in my room, I’ve got it bad, crying for the moon, they think I’m mad, they say it isn’t real, but I know what I feel, and I love you—

“This was the song on the album that caused so much controversy, you know,” Murdock replied, interrupting the vocals before they made it to the final line. He sat back in his chair. “It’s about a boy pining for another boy. Early 80s gay shocker, gasp and dismay!”

Dramatically he clutched his chest.

Dr. Carroll watched him impassively. “Mr. Murdock, you are well aware that I’m asking you to tell me what this song means to you.”

Murdock dropped his hands. “Let’s talk about this one,” he suggested, reaching over the desk and tugging a different sheet out of the pile. “This song’s stuck in my head too. It’s from the same album, and it’s full of allegory and symbols! And it’s more upbeat!”

He hummed a few bars of “Heels of the Wind” for the doctor.

The man across the desk shook his head slowly. 

“Or “The Fox!” That one’s even more full of metaphors, you can delve deep into my psyche with that one. I even made a little fox with my thumbprint, and its tail is my pinkie! It should probably be a red fox, that’s what they have in England, right? But the red wasn’t acting so pleasant yesterday in group, and red foxes are actually orange instead of true red. I wonder why in the canidae family the coat color orange is called red instead of orange. Did people think they were going to be confused with the fruit? Or—“

“Mr. Murdock.”

Murdock stopped. 

Dr. Carroll sighed a tiny bit. “You know I’d prefer you to tell me what it means to you instead of me having to guess.”

“Because then it’s like you’re feeding me answers. Or jumping to conclusions.” Murdock had read psychology books. He knew what’s what.

“Correct. However, if you won’t talk to me . . .”

Murdock read between the lines. But he couldn’t make him talk! Everyone, everywhere tried to make him talk! The Viet Cong tried. Other doctors tried. He wasn’t having it! Defiantly, Murdock shook his head.

The doctor sighed again and turned the paper back around. He read the lyrics on the smudgy paper silently. Murdock tracked the other man’s eye movements, and chewed on a thumbnail while he waited for whatever might be coming next.

Finally Dr. Carroll finished. He turned his gaze up to Murdock’s again. 

“You said this is about a boy wanting another boy.”

Sullenly, against his wishes, Murdock gave a single nod. He bit down on his nail and received the coppery lick of blood in return.

“And I suppose this song is stuck in your head because—“

“You’re not allowed to ask me about my sexual orientation!” Murdock burst out.

If that wasn’t the response Dr. Carroll was expecting, he didn’t show it. He was a good doctor. Good doctors could probably be good poker players, because working hard to look like nothing could surprise them is a skill that would serve them well on the professional circuit—

“I’m not?” Dr. Carroll asked politely, interrupting Murdock’s inner digression.

“Wh-what?” he sputtered, buying time to get back on track. “No! You’re not allowed! It’s illegal.”

Don’t ask, don’t tell, doc. Seriously, are you trying to ruin my reputation? If people think I’m light in the loafers it’ll be even more difficult to get my license back, because what if I suddenly feel the need to go down on a guy when I’m supposed to be piloting an aircraft with women and children on board—

Murdock swallowed passed a thick wall of saliva that glued his throat shut. 

—besides, there was only that one time with Face—it was awkward and awkward and I’m pretty sure Faceman was more drunk than he let on, and hell, I’m not even sure what I think about it, it was just a mutual handjob—I’m sure if I was one hundred percent gay I’d know what fancy slang term they called something like that, which only goes to prove I’m not one hundred percent gay, so I just don’t know. Would I do it again? With Face, absolutely. With you? Or Big Carl? Probably not, I guess, so that’s what, forty percent gay? No, I still like looking at tits so maybe thirty, thirty five percent tops—

Dr. Carroll had continued. “I know that that was one of the matters you were questioned about, and that Decker was concerned with—“

The name-dropping snapped Murdock out of his internal turmoil.

“What did you just say?” he asked, his voice dropping low. Voice modulation could be an effective threat. He learned that from Hannibal.

Oblivious, Dr. Carroll repeated, “I know you were questioned about your sexuality, and that Deck—“

“DON’T SAY HIS NAME!” Murdock roared, slamming his hands down on the desk in front of him, sending shockwaves of pain through his bleeding thumb. He ignored the pain. “He doesn’t know anything about me—he doesn’t know shit about me, or about the team, or—“

Big Carl was in the room and wrapping Murdock up in a full nelson before he knew it. Dr. Carroll hadn’t gotten up from his desk.

“Remember what we said about bein’ violent, Murdock?” Big Carl grunted into his ear. “You’re a smart guy—you want this to end like the other night? Huh?”

But at the orderly’s immobilization, Murdock went limp. He completely let go off all tension and would have dropped to the floor if not supported. His eyes blazed, however. 

“I think we’re fine, Carl,” Dr. Carroll said evenly, finally standing up. 

He came around the side of the desk to stand next to the two men, and gazed directly into Murdock’s face. 

“Are you fine, Mr. Murdock? Are you finished?”

Murdock bit his lip with the same intensity he’d bitten his thumbnail. Fresh blood coated his tongue.

“Please don’t do that, Mr. Murdock,” Dr. Carroll said compassionately. 

Undone by the doctor’s genuine concern, Murdock dropped his head. The fire went out of his eyes, and he gave up. With a shaky breath, he managed a nod.

“Thank you,” came the sincere reply he didn’t lift his head to see. 

Gradually, at Dr. Carroll’s insistence, Big Carl loosened his hold. Murdock’s arms came slowly back to his sides, and he stood still. His shoulders hunched again, like they had when he’d first entered the office.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, Mr. Murdock, but eventually we have to,” Dr. Carroll said quietly. Murdock squeaked a bit of a protest, and the doctor hurried on. “Not about your sexual orientation—you’re absolutely right, I could care less what that is. But we do need to discuss Decker. What he did is illegal. Talking about it is the only way to come to terms with it.”

Grudgingly, Murdock gave a swift nod.

The doctor nodded too, and said he thought today’s session was over. He would see Murdock again later in the week, he said, and Big Carl made to take Murdock’s elbow to guide him back out of the room. Murdock jerked his arm away from the orderly.

Dr. Carroll made a motion as if to squeeze his shoulder, but stopped himself. The move was awkward, and Murdock felt a pang of regret; he knew the reason for it: if he hadn’t been a mental patient and the doctor wasn’t sure how he’d react to an unwanted touch, the reassuring gesture of support would have been completed. 

Dr. Carroll was a good man, and Murdock both thanked and hated him for it.


	4. 4

Days were a blur. Sometimes Murdock did that on purpose, kind of a mental spinning-on-your-heels-in-a-circle so fast that when you stop, the world keeps whipping around you until it feels like your eyeballs are going in circles too. Like in the cartoons. Like little birds were flying around your head. Which usually meant someone got knocked out, but it worked for extreme dizziness too.

It takes a lot for him to work up to that level of vertigo, because he’s got good equilibrium. 

But the mind-numbing day after day after day after day after day after day of white walls and bland food and art therapy group therapy yoga therapy play therapy—if something didn’t give soon, if Face didn’t show up to spring him out of this loony bin, he was going to take matters into his own hands and blow this joint, just for a break in the monotony.

Billy showed up on an irregular schedule. That always brightened his day. Murdock always scooted over on his cot or on one of the plush chairs in the communal room to allow the dog up beside him. Grandma never approved of dogs on the furniture; she didn’t approve of dogs in the house at all because dogs were farm animals, they were working dogs meant to help herd or keep varmints out of the hen coop. They weren’t house pets to be coddled.

But Billy was special. Billy was allowed where he wanted, because grandma wasn’t here to tell him no. And the nurses and orderlies didn’t like Murdock on the floor too often, so how was he supposed to whisper all the secret thoughts he inside him into the dog’s ear if Billy was down there and he was up in a chair or a bed?

That’s an impossible problem, a Sphinx’s riddle.

Murdock broke grandma’s rules. No one here seemed to mind except grandma.

He told the dog he wanted out, he needed out; Hannibal had to be working on something, B.A. would be getting too lazy without him trading verbal jabs (B.A.’s witty responses were mostly limited to “fool” and physical threats, but occasionally he came up with something extraordinary; Murdock lived for those moments and wanted to keep B.A. in fighting form), Face was probably living high on the hog with fine dining and beautiful ladies but even he could get bored with the genteel lifestyle he always acted like he wanted . . .

Billy leaned against him as Murdock told him he was planning on leaving. He had to find the team, he had to get fresh air that wasn’t enclosed by quotation marks. He wondered if Billy would be interested in tagging along—

Billy came and went as he pleased. Murdock wasn’t ever able to control his appearances, no matter how hard he tried.

The days ran together like sidewalk chalk drawings in the rain. Now Murdock didn’t want them to be that way, he wanted to know how long it had been since he’d last seen hide or hair of his best friend, but the flatness of the world within these walls quashed him. 

It had to be time for an appointment with Dr. Carroll, didn’t it? It’d already been a week, a month, a year since he’d been in the doctor’s office last, and Dr. Carroll had said it would just a few days till their next session—

What if Dr. Carroll no longer wanted to talk to him? What if Dr. Carroll had discovered the truth about the team? What if Dr. Carroll didn’t want to see him, because Dr. Carroll knew about the team, and something happened to the team? What if Dr. Carroll knew that Hannibal, Face and B.A. were captured or hurt, and he didn’t want to talk to him because he’d let something slip that something had happened, and then Murdock would truly lose it—

Decker. 

What if Decker got to the team? 

Stunned by the sudden stumbling onto the truth, Murdock found himself looking from the outside in, disconnected from his physical self. He saw a man paralyzed by fear, staring blankly at a bare wall in a mental hospital.

That would never do. He was a Captain in the US Army, by god, and that would never do.

Murdock felt himself snap back into himself. 

Dr. Carroll knew about this. The doctor needed to come clean, so he could help his team, help his friends. Murdock would make sure he did.


	5. 5

Only those without the basest survival instinct ignored Murdock: the catatonics, the completely detached from the world, the drugged. Everyone else housed in the ward scattered.

He stomped through the communal room, and aura of rage surrounding him.

Even Billy ducked and skittered away with his tail between his legs.

The nurses noticed too. 

“Mr. Murdock!” one called. She was an elderly woman who’d seen everything possible in a mental hospital, and she didn’t stand for nonsense. “Mr. Murdock! You need to sit down right now!”

Respect your elders! grandma scolded behind his ear.

Murdock batted at the air near his head, to dislodge her.

“Mr. Murdock!” the nurse continued, hurrying up to him. “You need to sit down. Right now.”

There was a faint emphasis in her voice that told him more than her actual words. The hidden message was that she was going to call orderlies over, and she was going to sedate him. Not necessarily in that order.

Prudence catches more flies than vinegar, Murdock thought. He shook his head. No, that wasn’t right. Honey is the better part of valor? No.

He shook his head again, and slapped at the twittering laughter that had taken the place of grandma whispering in his ear. Crazy, loony, so worked up, can’t even get words right in your own head, how can you expect to get your driver’s license back, never mind getting your pilot’s license when you’re all mixed up, how can you expect to be a help to your friends, remember your friends, you can’t even help yourself, how’re you gonna be any use to your friends when you’re just here in a ward no help to anybody—

Murdock made to slap at the vicious voices once more, aiming right for the spot on the side of his head he knew they resided. 

His wrist was caught by the nurse before he made contact.

“Sit down, Mr. Murdock,” she ordered.

Murdock blinked at the older woman with a combination of surprise and blankness, like he hadn’t realized she was standing next to him. 

“You sit down and relax. You’ve been doing well, Mr. Murdock, and I don’t want to have to give you anything to force you to calm down, but I will if I have to. Do you understand me?”

Nurse Roth was no-nonsense but fair.

In light of being chemically restrained, Murdock sat. 

She held his wrist until he did.

“Now tell me what’s got you so worked up. Can you do that, Mr. Murdock?”

Once again he looked at her with incomprehension on his features.

“Mr. Murdock?“

Murdock bit his lip. The sharp pain kept the voices busy for a bit, stilling their commentary of his inability to stay on task, providing them the old penny taste of blood to lap at in his mouth. If he could keep them occupied, then he could outwait Nurse Roth, and he could sneak away when no one was looking to get to Dr. Carroll's office . . . he was good at sneaking! He just had to wait, and wait . . .  
The nurse sighed and studied him. How was it he never noticed her eyes where the same slate blue of Hannibal's? That was a problem; he'd always crumpled under Hannibal's gaze, and if she keep up her scrutiny, he'd give in to her too--

“I’m waiting, Mr. Murdock—“

“I need to see Dr. Carroll!” he cried. “I need to see Dr. Carroll—it’s a matter of life or death!”

The nurse watched him skeptically. 

“I think it would be best—“

“No! I need to see Dr. Carroll right now!” he interrupted. Murdock never interrupted, it was rude and grandma would tan his hide if she heard him right now. He didn’t care. “I demand to see Dr. Carroll, I—“

Murdock cut himself off. Demands and hyperbole weren’t going to help in this situation. Nurse Roth was a gate-keeper, a mule—no offense!—and mules dug their one-toed heels in, and gate-keepers swallowed keys.

As the nurse waited, he forced himself to adopt a reasonable, rational tone.

“It’s important for me to visit Dr. Carroll,” Murdock said.

His abrupt change in voice didn’t startle her.

“I have reason to believe—“ 

Murdock stopped this sentence too. He wasn’t sure how much to tell her. Anything he said could and would be used against him in a court of law, and could possibly endanger her. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt, but what choice did he have? He plowed on. 

“—reason to believe that my friends may be in trouble. I need to see Dr. Carroll right away. Please.”

He looked beseechingly up at her. He wished he’d honed the skill Face did for convincing people to do what he wanted, and to make them think it was their idea all along.

The skepticism on her features didn’t change.

“Your session with Dr. Carroll isn’t scheduled for this afternoon, it’s for this evening, Mr. Murdock—“

Trying to act like this wasn’t that big a deal broke him inside, and the faux control he'd managed disintegrated. Murdock countered with an opened-mouth howl that caused the other residents, the ones who’d been trying to be small and out of the way to avoid him, cover their ears with their hands. No one wanted that wild desperation inside them.

The stony expression on Nurse Roth’s face finally melted. She looked over to the nurse’s station for assistance, and one of her colleagues hurried over.

She didn’t want to sedate Mr. Murdock. He was a good patient. Even now, during his obvious distress, he didn’t disobey her and remained seated. She was a compassionate woman, and had never believed medications were the solution to every problem. As her patient continued to keen and intersperse the noise with insistence he needed to help his team in the brief pauses he took to catch his breath, Nurse Roth asked the younger nurse to run to Dr. Carroll’s office and see if he would move Mr. Murdock’s therapy session up.

*

In the agonizing time it took for the younger nurse to return from her assignment, Murdock knew he had his answer. 

How long did it take for someone to walk down a hall, knock on a door, query, and walk back?

Dr. Carroll didn’t want to see him, Dr. Carroll knew about the team, Dr. Carroll had information about Decker. That was all there was to it. Dr. Carroll thought he was protecting Murdock by not seeing him, by not making it known to Decker that Murdock was part of the team and therefore should be arrested alongside them.

If Dr. Carroll thought that he was doing the right thing by preventing Murdock from helping his friends, Dr. Carroll had another thing coming.

Under Nurse Roth’s watchful eye, Murdock continued to stay seated while they awaited the verdict. The room rocked and undulated around him, and his anger hadn’t dissipated: it just formed a small hard knot in his gut, like a small predator waiting to spring. Murdock felt it gather and bunch itself in preparation for action, even while a small voice whispered to him that it was an impotent rage, it matched the other impotencies in his life—

This time Nurse Roth wasn’t quick enough to stop him from landing a resounding crack to the side of his own head.

“Mr. Murdock!” she scolded, using the voice of a parent dealing with a toddler.

The other patients in the room, who’d been tentatively going back to their routines, cowered again.

The animal inside Murdock leapt, all teeth and fury.

“THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!” Murdock boomed. “My friends are in danger, Decker’s behind this—I need to help them, don’t you understand you stupid woman—“

Orderlies had appeared out of the woodwork—their white clothing blended well with the whitewashed walls, like medical ninjas! the tiny voice that refused to be silent inside his head twittered; Murdock rammed the heel of his palm into his head again to loosen it from the hold it had on the inside of his skull—and approached warily to surround him.

Nurse Roth had held her ground. Murdock knew she was willing to help physically subdue him as well, then once he was held she’d go and get the injectable restraints.

That didn’t matter now. The animal had his tongue.

“—you can’t understand, you haven’t ever had the experiences I have—you can’t possible comprehend the sacred bond, the hallowed friendship I’ve maintained with Face and B.A. and Hannibal, we’re closer than brothers, they would never leave me, I would never leave them—if Decker has gotten to them, I HAVE TO HELP—DECKER WILL DESTROY THEM—“

Two of the orderlies grabbed him and he wrestled. He had righteous fury on his side, and wiry strength to back it up. They had a hard time holding on to him, he thrashed and kicked—

“Mr. Murdock, Dr. Carroll will see you now.”

The world stopped its flailing at words from above. The younger nurse stood at the door leading to the offices, holding it slightly open as an invitation.

For an eternity of a second, Murdock looked down on the scene from outside himself: red-faced mental patient with wild hair and foamy spit caught in one corner of his mouth, panting heavily with the exertion of struggling and shouting, surrounded by large burly men meaning to contain him and protect the other patients as well as himself. 

Be rational, present your case! the tiny voice whispered.

The animal in his gut jumped and snapped at that tiny voice, ripping it asunder with its needle teeth.

“Finally!” Murdock snarled, in the animal’s accent.

Outside-Murdock didn’t know if the word was in response to the fact that Dr. Carroll agreed to see him, or if it was rejoicing that the tiny logical voice had been silenced. 

Inside-Murdock didn’t care.

He shook off the one orderly who’d kept his grip on the raging beast he’d been, and bolted for the open door leading out of the communal room.  
As his body ran passed, Outside-Murdock caught hold and slipped back in. He felt he should grin because he won this round, but his mouth was still frozen in a teeth-baring grimace.

*

The pounding of soft soled shoes on the linoleum behind him was a reminder that orderlies weren’t going to just let him run pell-mell through the corridors. And now a heavier foot fall accompanied them; Big Carl must have been called up to help.

Murdock kept running, skidded and almost lost his balance going around a corner, and charged to Dr. Carroll’s office door. It wasn’t open, and that plus the earlier skid allowed the orderlies to catch up to him. 

He rattled the doorknob frantically, knocking a staccato rhythm with the knuckles of his other hand, needing, for some reason, to get in the door, get into the safety of the room before they grabbed him, before they dragged him away, maybe they secretly worked for Decker and they had orders to silence him permanently, and oh god, what if what if—

The doorknob twisted under his hand and Dr. Carroll was there, just as Big Carl grabbed his upper arm. The other orderlies who had followed held back.

Murdock jerked—a whole body flail, truthfully—but the larger man’s hand was iron. He turned on the man in white, snarling a warning deep in his throat.

Dr. Carroll said, “Stand down, Mr. Murdock!”

The bark of an order made the animal inside cower. Murdock immediately shut his mouth, although he continued to subtly strain away from the orderly.

Dr. Carroll took a breath. 

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Murdock?” His voice had become the standard even modulation they must coach psychiatrists to have in school.  
Murdock tore his eyes away from the more immediate threat of Big Carl and glanced at the doctor.

“Yes. Yes! I need to talk to you, Dr. Carroll! I have to—“

“Nurse Roth called me up, sir,” Big Carl interrupted. “Said he was gettin’ rowdy and threatening. You want me to take him back, get him some juice?”

“Juice” was slang on the ward for intravenous sedation.

Murdock glared venomously at the orderly again, but Big Carl was immune to ocular-given poison.

Dr. Carroll considered Murdock a moment. “No,” he finally decided. “It is obvious Mr. Murdock needs someone to speak with, and I’m available now. I wouldn’t want him to be sedated and have to miss the original session we’d planned for this evening.”

It was humiliating to be spoken about like he wasn’t present, or that he was incapable of comprehending what they were saying, but Murdock had been subject to worse.

“We can talk now, Mr. Murdock. Please come in.”

Big Carl didn’t release him. “You want me to come in too, Dr. Carroll?”

Murdock pressed his lips together tightly.

The doctor caught the body language. He shook his head.

“No, that won’t be necessary.”

Dr. Carroll stood aside and held the door open more widely for Murdock to pass. Big Carl gave him one last warning squeeze on his bicep, and although he didn’t see it, Murdock knew the good doctor and the orderly shared some type of non-verbal communication. No matter how compassionate the doctor was, the orderly knew his job and would be waiting in the hallway for the end of the session.  
Murdock didn’t care. He could get answers from Dr. Carroll before Big Carl could get into the room again.

He’d had personal experience getting information out of a body.


	6. 6

Dr. Carroll shut the door tightly behind the two of them and crossed the room to sit behind his desk.

Clever, Murdock thought. A physical barrier between doctor and patient to indicate superiority; a barrier between interrogator and victim, for protection—

“Well. Have a seat, Mr. Murdock.”

Murdock shook his head. It was better to be ready for action, the animal inside whispered. He agreed.

Dr. Carroll nodded, as if he expected as much. He sighed, as if he expected for this day to come.  
Of course he should have expected this, the animal whispered, he’s smart enough to know you’re smart enough to be able to know the score. He knows you’re here for answers, and he knows he has to give them to you—

“All right, Mr. Murdock,” Dr. Carroll said pleasantly. “Why don’t you being by telling me what made you so worked up in the communal room. When Nurse Lefever came and told me what was happening, she said that you were shouting and the other patients were frightened.”

Murdock forced himself to try and answer, even as the animal wanted to leap over the desk and shake the man.

“I’m worried about my friends,” he said. An unexpected fear wisped through him, and he was suddenly blinking rapidly to force tears back into his tear ducts instead of letting them run down his face.

“Ah,” replied Dr. Carroll. The sound wasn’t as dismissive as it could be. “Your friends.”

“Yes! I think they’re in trouble, I think they need help!”

“Your friends?”

“Yes!” Murdock repeated, more loudly. The unbidden fear was gone as quickly as it had come. Animal’s anger was creeping back in.

“And your friends are—?” the doctor asked, raising his eyebrows as his voice rose at the end.

“Face and B.A. and Colonel John Hannibal Smith!” Murdock shouted.

His hands were fists at his sides, and he was panting like he’d run the corridors again. Tears—of rage, this time—re-threatened to leak out again.

The doctor wasn’t taken aback by being shouted at. “Of course. Face and B.A. and Hannibal. The, ah, A-Team?”

All caution was thrown to the wind. Dr. Carroll knew this, he was playing some evil game in league with Decker to keep him here—

“Yes—the A-Team! You may have read about them in the paper,” Murdock spit sarcastically. “But you haven’t read about them lately, have you?!”

Dr. Carroll shook his head. 

“Of course you haven’t!” Murdock continued. “That’s because they’re in trouble! They need help! Will you help me? Will you help them? You can’t believe they’re as guilty as the papers say, do you? That’s just stupid, anyone with half a brain could see through the lies and subterfuge the media uses to twist the truth against them—“

Before he could go further into his rant, Dr. Carroll stood up.

“And how are they in trouble, Mr. Murdock?”

The combination of the other man standing up and the interrupting question pulled Murdock up short. The animal inside him yipped gleefully, crouching, ready to spring and end this ridiculous diversion of questions meant to sound like the good doctor was clueless, that he wasn’t aware of what was happening, that he was innocent of everything—the crouching animal spun and spun on itself, winding up—

“DECKER GOT THEM!” Murdock shrieked.

“Ah,” the doctor said once more. 

The utter comprehension and utter lack of surprised response made Murdock howl again, and the animal hurdled forward. This game was at an end.

Murdock was caught and restrained by Big Carl before his fingers, stiffened into claws, reached the doctor. The orderly used his standard full nelson to contain the howling man, and was quick enough to avoid being kicked. He was strong enough to prevent Murdock to lever himself away as well.

Unable to reach his intended target, unable to break free, Murdock struggled wildly. His captor had been an orderly too long to not know how to prevent his patient from flinging backwards and landing a heel to his groin; there was enough laxity in his hold that his patient couldn’t slide out of his grip; and his hands locked on the back of his patient’s neck were tight enough that there wasn’t enough maneuverability for biting.

Murdock wrenched himself up and his feet found purchase on the doctor’s desk. He shoved against it. The desk screeched across the floor; Big Carl was an oak tree unbowed by the onslaught.

“Juice now, doc?” the orderly grunted over the wailing.

Surprisingly, Dr. Carroll shook his head. “No, no. Mr. Murdock needed to talk, and we’re talking.”

Ignoring the sounds coming from Murdock, Dr. Carroll stepped forward. “Mr. Murdock. Mr. Murdock.”

This was it. Someone had put two and two together and came to the sum that H.M. Murdock was part of the A-Team. Decker had the team, Decker forced his way into the VA system and corrupted good Dr. Carroll, and now he was going to be tried and imprisoned, imprisoned for real, not this loony bin, Decker won, Decker won—

“Mr. Murdock,” Dr. Carroll said more forcefully. “You need to listen to me. I know you’re scared of Dr. Decker, but you have to believe me when I tell you—“

Decker Decker, Colonel Decker, Colonel Doctor Decker, Doctor Decker, Dr. Decker—

Murdock stopped thrashing.

“Wh-what did you say?” he croaked. His throat was raw from the heaving shouting ripped out of him.

“I said I understand your fear of Dr. Decker, but he’s not someone you have to worry about any longer. He’s no longer welcome in this facility—“

“Doctor Decker?”

Dr. Carroll studied him, hard. Taking a second the doctor took a breath and made a decision. He continued, “Yes. Doctor Decker. You remember? I know it’s hard, Mr. Murdock, I know the memories are painful. But remembering is the best way to be rid of the hold they have on you, to take away their power—“

Murdock shook his head in the confines of Big Carl’s forearms. “N-no,” he stuttered, “no, no—“

“Yes, Mr. Murdock,” Dr. Carroll disagreed. “Dr. Decker was your psychiatrist here. He—“

“—no, n-no, no—“

“—has been stripped of his license. His work has been discredited. He—“

“—no no no no—“

“—did horrible things to you, Mr. Murdock. You’re safe here, Mr. Murdock. There is no more electroshock therapy. There are no more illegal treatments. You’re here for help, and we’re here to help you.”

The repeated disbelief petered out. Murdock’s body became limp. Big Carl, the good orderly he was, allowed him some leniency. When Dr. Carroll gave the larger man another nod, Big Carl released him and guided him into the nearest chair.

The animal inside was whining, cringing, baring its teeth at its captors. But with its leg caught in the steel jaws of a trap and its life draining out, it was powerless and losing the will to live.

“B-but, but—Hannibal!” Murdock insisted. He folded in on himself, his chest on his knees, even as he looked upward at the two men standing over him. He pleaded. “Colonel John Hannibal Smith! B.A., and his van—he loves that van, it’s his Baby, I drove it off a pier once!”

More tears coursed down his cheeks. Murdock wiped at them crossly, as if their presence was the problem with the world.

“And Face! What about Face, Doctor? Face is my best friend, I love him—“

“Face isn’t real,” Dr. Carroll interrupted softly.

Murdock cried out as if the words bit him.

“Hannibal and B.A. and Face were all made up in your mind, Mr. Murdock,” Dr. Carroll said, his voice still quiet. “They are defense mechanisms. Each of them represents something good and pure and perfect. Hannibal is clever and a master strategist. B.A. is physically strong but kind and good-hearted. Face is handsome and charming. All the qualities you’d like to have—that everyone would like to have!¬—personified as a way to more easily deal with the world.”

“No, no—but-but . . . I was their pilot! We served in the war together, I remember!”

“Your Uncle Paul was in Viet Nam, Mr. Murdock,” the doctor corrected. “He told you about the war, about being a chopper pilot. You could not have served in Viet Nam. You were born in 1973. ”

Still in his awkward, cramped position, Murdock looked up at the doctor. Soundlessly he mouthed the word “no” and shook his head. The room rocked back and forth with the movement, dragging blurry lines across his vision.

Dr. Carroll and Big Carl waited silently.

This couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be true. He couldn’t just be a mental patient in a no-name mental hospital, delusional and broken—

“What about Billy?!” Murdock crowed triumphantly. His voice cracked as he asked. “B.A. always says Billy’s imaginary, why would an imaginary person think an imaginary dog is imaginary?”

Dr. Carroll took a breath.

Ah-ha! He had them! This whole set up was good, he’d give Decker that—higher production value than most of his schemes—

“Billy is a therapy dog. He comes into the ward with his owner to visit patients,” Dr. Carroll answered. His voice was the most delicate it had been yet this afternoon.

Murdock’s world shattered.

He screamed. It wasn’t the driven rage of a man who knows he’s right. It was the scream of the fragmented, of the damaged. He bucked up and out of his chair and turned the last spark of the animal’s will on himself, drawing lines of blood on his cheeks with finger claws.

He kicked and slammed bodily into the wall of books that had been so recently returned to their shelves. Some fell again. Murdock slipped on them, tearing more pages and headed for the plastic bag covered window—he’d have pitched through it if Big Carl hadn’t wrapped him up in a bear hug and wrestled him back.

Murdock’s screaming didn’t abate. He also didn’t stop trying to claw at his own face, despite Big Carl’s efforts to keep him still.

A burning, aching sting—the bugs in ‘Nam were the biggest freaking insects Murdock had ever known—made his thigh numb, and against his will, Murdock slipped into unconsciousness.

Nurse Roth sat back on her heels and recapped the syringe. Big Carl panted and untangled himself from the sedated man on the floor of the office. Dr. Carroll ran his hands over his face and shook his head.

“It seemed like we were making progress,” he said sadly, to neither of them in particular.

The office was quiet for a moment.

“Mr. Murdock’s wounds will need taken care of.”

“I’ll take care of that, Doctor,” Nurse Roth said. “I’ll trim his nails too.”

The doctor nodded. “And I think . . . it would be best to restrain him again tonight. In the past he’s repeated the self-harm after one of these revelations.”

Dr. Carroll voice was unhappy, and he seemed troubled they had to resort to it.

“Of course, Doctor.”

“Yes sir,” Big Carl agreed.


	7. 7

Murdock woke up the next morning wrapped up tight. He was warm and cozy, but his cheeks hurt when he opened his mouth to yawn. 

Must have been shrapnel or something when that building exploded, he thought. Or maybe I got scraped up in that fight with that corrupt sheriff’s cronies. Or was it the oil baron’s henchmen?

Doesn’t matter, he decided, and was pleased to find he could shrug his shoulders in a straightjacket. Whatever it was, Face fixed me up and got me back here so the team didn’t blow their cover. Hannibal’ll have some new plan in the works, and I can’t wait to tell B.A. all about what Billy did yesterday . . .

_fin._


End file.
